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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24415435">Nobody Likes a Jack-the-Lass</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sockablock/pseuds/sockablock'>sockablock</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Critical Role (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/F, Fluff, Meet-Cute, a tiefling walks into a bar and..., beau's a scamp, caleb and fjord are along for the ride, close enough to victorian anyway, jester's a lady, somewhat of a gentleman jack au</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:01:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,758</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24415435</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sockablock/pseuds/sockablock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody could say that Beauregard Lionett—with her crooked collar, shaved head, and penchant for wearing trousers—was a lady. She wouldn't have let them, anyway, <em>especially</em> not to her face. But when a <em>real</em> lady, quite a pretty and friendly one to boot, walks right into the face of danger, Beau's ready to show the world just how chivalrous and gentlemanly she can be. </p><p>That is, for a given amount of chivalry. And certainly a given amount of "gentleman."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>122</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Nobody Likes a Jack-the-Lass</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>what can I say? I watched Gentleman Jack ages ago and had a first draft drifting around on tumblr for just an unacceptable length of time.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> “—bad idea.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“—I <em>said</em>, bad idea—”</p><p>“Gods, speak <em>up, </em>Widogast! I can barely hear you over the sound of my <em>victory</em>.”</p><p>“<em>Ach, götterverd</em>—I am telling you that this is a bad <em>idea</em>, Miss Lionett! And besides, these activities are crude! You should not, that is…er, no offense.”</p><p>The lumbering flesh-wall of a man bearing down on them thumped the table, rattling their mugs.</p><p>“Now, now, don’t talk her out of this!” he barked. “If the little lady thinks she can play games with the big boys, she’s gonna have to prove ‘erself.”</p><p>His sausage-link fingers tightened around the most manhandled cards in history. Then he winked in a way that he probably thought was suave, if suave were an easier word to spell.</p><p>“Maybe your manservant’s got a point, though,” he continued. “Maybe you <em>should’ve </em>quit while you were ahead, missy.”</p><p>Seated across the table from him was what appeared to be a young woman. ‘Lady’ could almost be applied in this scenario, if not for her collar, crooked and irregular, sleeves rolled up past the point of propriety and hair pinned back with what might’ve been a nail.</p><p>The corner of her lip twitched, a half-nod. “Maybe,” she said. “But where’s the fun in that?”</p><p>“A-<em>ha</em>, so you’re a missy who likes to have <em>fun</em>.”</p><p>Her mouth curved up just a little bit sharper.</p><p>“Oh, of <em>course. </em>That’s why I’m here tonight, right? Nothing more fun than dragging some sorry bastard clean through the mud.”</p><p>His nostrils flared instantly in response. She could practically see the plume of rancid shock.</p><p>She leaned closer.</p><p>“And, anyway, <em>mister</em>, I’ve actually got it on pretty good authority that <em>you’re</em> the one who probably should’ve quit. Sorry.”</p><p>His glare was the texture of gravel. “Oh <em>yeah</em>? And whose authority would that be, then?”</p><p>In the background, the other man—Widogast—tried to look busy.</p><p>The woman pushed her chair back, threw her feet onto the table, reached beyond her tankard and tossed her cards beneath his chin.</p><p>“<em>My </em>authority.”</p><p>Three shining aces, crisp and gleaming in the amber torchlight.</p><p>She folded her hands behind her head and leaned back even further.</p><p>“Pay up. Eight silver, and count slowly, ‘cause I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”</p><p>She let her chair legs fall back to the floor after her witless opponent stormed off. The trail of grunts and annoyed voices traced his path to the bar.</p><p>The silver made a smooth, alluring <em>clink </em>as she her winnings closer.</p><p>“Ha-<em>ha</em>! Not bad, right, Caleb?” She turned to the skinny, slowly-blinking man beside her. “That’s nearly <em>six </em>whole gold we’ve made tonight. Not even counting the drinks I’ve been bought.”</p><p>Caleb, all russet hair and apprehension, tried to look as supportive as he could.</p><p>“Er…definitely, <em>ja</em>. Though, Miss Lionett—”</p><p>“He’s gone now, it’s Beau again.”</p><p>“Beauregard—”</p><p>“Oh, and hey, where’d your cat go? Frumpkin should get a reward for all that hard work.”</p><p>Caleb sighed. He reached under the table and immediately came a <em>snap</em>, followed by a puff of air.</p><p>A brown tabby cat crawled into his lap. Then was picked up, past their plates, so it could meow at Beau.</p><p>“<em>Anyway</em>,” pressed Caleb, as she scratched Frumpkin’s ears, “as…as impressive as your haul today was, I <em>am</em>…worried that you are starting to lay it on a bit thick. None of the regulars will play with you, anymore. And I do not think the bartender likes you causing trouble.”</p><p>“Aw, no <em>way</em>,” beneath her fingers, Frumpkin purred. “That guy <em>loves </em>it when I make people mad. It motivates them to buy more drinks.”</p><p>A thoughtful pause. Then— “Well, be that as it may, we are still running out of targets here. While you were off having fun last night, Nott and I tried a few scams of our own. We did not get very far before a…return customer called the Zolezzo and nearly got us for good. We should move areas, and your father said—”</p><p>Beau’s expression immediately soured.</p><p>“I don’t give a <em>shit </em>what my father said,” she snapped. Her hands pulled away from Frumpkin, toward a mug. “<em>I </em>say we stick around a little longer, see what’s up. I’m sure there’s plenty of shit left to do, and you and Nott are plently resourceful, right?”</p><p>“Er…right, but financially speaking—”</p><p>“What? You think my <em>dad’s </em>gonna pay if you listen?”</p><p>Caleb sighed. “<em>Nein, </em>no, that is not what I meant. I am not...I do not care about my supposed salary, I <em>care</em> about our ability to survive as a group. Six gold is a <em>large </em>sum, Beauregard, and I am sorry for diminishing your achievement—”</p><p>“Damn right.”</p><p>“—but I <em>insist</em>. It is essential that we keep a low profile.”</p><p>She crossed her arms. Caleb pinched his brow.</p><p>“All I mean…is that I hope you be careful,” he tried. “I would not dare to suggest you change, Beauregard, just to be aware of the attention you draw.”</p><p>She gave him a long, unflinching look. A moment passed, backlit by the bar’s noise and clutter.</p><p>Then she groaned. She raised her mug. “Alright, duly noted, I’ll be care—”</p><p>The door to the Wayfarer’s Cove slid open.</p><p>This in and of itself was not unusual.</p><p>What <em>was </em>unusual, was that the figure who entered was much shorter than most of the usual dockhands and burly sailors and certainly, significantly, quite…<em>disruptively</em> eye-catching.</p><p>She was a five-foot blue tiefling in a dress as soft as seafoam, billowing green sleeves and a leather belt at her waist. She wore a cloak, presumably to keep out the evening chill, decorated with golden buttons that shone. Her boots clacked against the slanted floorboards and as she walked in, a series of silver charms twinkled like stars in the curve of her horns. Bright ribbons adorned her short, dark hair, and as she stared forward with striking, violet eyes, her glowing grin was framed by a splash of scattered freckles.</p><p>Beau could barely tare her gaze away from that cheery smile. When she did, it still lingered on the woman’s face.</p><p>Not that this newcomer seemed to mind. She was too busy gaping—<em>openly!</em>—at the bar. It was almost as if she had never <em>seen </em>a pub before, which…given the way she was dressed…maybe she hadn’t…</p><p>And then Beau’s jaw hit the floor when the woman began to skip. At her side, she could hear Caleb audibly gasp.</p><p>“<em>Warum ist</em>…”</p><p>“<em>Tell me about it</em>—”</p><p>In fact, Beau was so completely distracted that she almost didn’t notice the door behind the tiefling close as she was followed in by the most nervous, apologetic, lankiest half-orc that Beau had ever seen in her life. He wore loose clothing as well, though Beau did catch the dull shine of a leather breastplate tucked neatly beneath the folds. He didn’t <em>look</em> to be wielding a weapon of any sort, but that didn’t really mean anything in a place like this.</p><p>Beau hoped, off-handedly, for his sake, that his looks were purposefully deceiving. Especially if he was going to be trailing off such a <em>pretty</em>—</p><p>…<em>pretty</em>?</p><p>“Target,” she said out loud. “I meant target.”</p><p>Caleb blinked. He glanced at Beau.</p><p>“Er…excuse me?”</p><p>She coughed loudly, a sound lost to the din of a bar resuming its loud chatter. Their eyes, however, did collectively follow the strange new woman’s insanely chipper gait. She’d made it to the counter now; her companion was in hell.</p><p>“N—no, it was nothing,” she grabbed her flagon. “No, I was just…thinking aloud. Jeez, she must be crazy, or something.”</p><p>“She certainly is…visible,” Caleb managed. “I did not even know there were tieflings in Nicodranas.”</p><p>“What, you think it’d be like the Empire? There are obviously no rules along the coast, not if ladies like <em>that </em>walk into—shit.”</p><p>“I agree,” said Caleb from within his mug, “this bar <em>is</em> shi—”</p><p>Beau grabbed his arm, spun him around.</p><p>“<em>No</em>, not—oh my <em>gods</em>, I’m gonna get involved—”</p><p>“You <em>wh</em>—”</p><p>Across the bar, a cup went flying. The man that Beau had swindled grabbed the half-orc by his collar. </p><p>She was on her feet before Caleb could start to argue, shoving her half-finished drink into his hands.</p><p>“Watch my cid—shut <em>up</em>, just watch it, I’ll be right back!”</p><p>---------------</p><p>To her credit, Jester looked totally unfazed. To his credit, Fjord looked almost very brave.</p><p>“—please. Let’s not fight, we’re only here to grab a quick drink—”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, right, of <em>course</em>, and that’s all I wanted too, right? Except now <em>she’s </em>comin’ in here, insultin’ me, tellin’ me to shove over when I don’t <em>want </em>to.”</p><p>From behind Fjord, but not nearly behind him enough, Jester crossed her arms.</p><p>“I never did that! I just asked you to move so we could sit. Though now that I think about it, maybe you <em>should</em> also chew some peppermint.”  </p><p>Through his drunken stupor, the man glowered. Fjord could feel his feet being lifted from the floor.</p><p>“<em>What </em>did you say to me?”</p><p>“Jester, <em>please</em>—” He was now being swayed back and forth.</p><p>“Pepper-mint,” she enunciated for clarity. “You can get it at the market, you could <em>probably</em> afford it.”</p><p>“I could <em>what</em>?!”</p><p>“She doesn’t mean it that way,” Fjord yelped. “It’s not—sometimes her words—”</p><p>He was yanked off the ground, jerked so high up that his eyes nearly watered from the sour bite of the man’s horrible breath.</p><p>“You wanna defend her so bad, orc-boy? You really think you could take <em>me</em> on?”</p><p>Fjord knew for a fact that he probably couldn’t. Not in a way that wouldn’t get the Zolezzo involved, anyway.</p><p>He swallowed.</p><p>“Now—”</p><p>He saw the fist a split second before it impacted. Immediately, the meaty hand grabbing Fjord slackened and he was dropped against the bar, elbows knocking over drinks. He heard a whooping laugh, the bartender running over, a storm of feet stamping and shouting. But this was all just background dressing, because almost immediately, as the man staggered back, came another blur of movement, a spinning kick, a vengeful whirl that tore through the air and slammed into the man’s stomach, knocking him flat on his back. A floorboard splintered, followed by a groan, and then one last kick dug into his ribs.</p><p>There was a smattering of applause from the bar’s drunker patrons. Beau took a step back and rubbed her knuckles.</p><p>“There,” she huffed, and leaned against the counter. “That should…yeah, that should teach ‘im.”</p><p>She was nearly deafened by the squeal that followed.</p><p>“Ho-o-ly <em>shit</em>!” the tiefling shrieked. “Oh my—holy <em>shit</em>, that was…that was <em>amazing</em>! How did you—how did you know how to <em>do </em>that?!”</p><p>It took a moment for Beau’s hearing to return, but she rallied magnificently soon after. “Oh, that?” She turned to face her admirer. “Nah, that, uh, that was nothing. You pick up a thing or two when you travel.”</p><p>“Travel?! Are you a sailor? A mercenary?”</p><p>“I’m a…tourist. I’ve just got tricks up my sleeve.”</p><p>“Does sightseeing normally get so out of hand?” Fjord had straightened up and dusted off his shoulders. Now he was giving Beau a careful once-over.</p><p>She shrugged again. “Something like that. Good job fending off that guy until I came.”</p><p>His face flushed almost immediately.</p><p>“He’s <em>very </em>strong,” the tiefling interjected. “He just didn’t want to <em>kill </em>the guy, you know?”</p><p>The half-orc sighed. He turned to Beau and held out a hand, very green and heavily calloused.</p><p>“Thanks,” he said. “For the…well, all of that. I’m, ah, you can call me Fjord.”</p><p>She took it.</p><p>“Beauregard.”</p><p>“And I’m Jester!” The tiefling curtsied. Beau had to begrudgingly admire such geniality in a place as rowdy as this; behind them, the bartender had already propped Beau’s punching bag up against a wall and was probably checking his pockets while he was at it.</p><p>“Jester <em>Lavorre</em>,” The tiefling added, and Beau gave her a—if not winning, then at least third-prize—smile.</p><p>“Nice to meet you,” she dipped her head. “You, ah…don’t come around here much, do you?”</p><p>Jester giggled. “Not so much. We, ah…” she leaned in, semi-conspiratorially, “we snuck out. <em>Usually</em> my momma wants me to stick around the house and be safe. But, well…that’s <em>boring</em>.”</p><p>“Sure, yeah. I get that.” In the privacy of her own head, she added: <em>Ah. A rich girl.</em></p><p>“You <em>know</em>,” Jester gasped suddenly, “you <em>know</em>¸ you should come by! I’m sure it would be way more fun with someone else around, and you can teach me some of those moves!” She mimicked a chop to the throat, something that Beau had not actually used. “Then, if I get <em>really </em>good, I can come out here without Fjord.”</p><p>He blinked. “Er…really? Is that…something you’d like?”</p><p>She waved a hand and laughed. “I meant, you wouldn’t have to worry about me so much. I still want you around, silly.”</p><p>For the briefest moment, Beau’s gaze darted between the two. They were obviously close, she obviously liked him, but was it—</p><p>“Well?”</p><p>Her attention snapped back.</p><p>“Uh, sorry, what?”</p><p>“Would you like to visit, some day?” Jester asked. “Oh, I can show you all around the estate, and tell you about the paintings and you can see the Chateau and we can have tea and cookies and stuff!”</p><p>“Wait, uh—”</p><p>“And then, we can go to the backyard and you can roll up your sleeves, and I can take off my shoes, and the both of us can go and <em>fight to the death</em>! How does that sound?!”</p><p>Her smile could’ve lit the room. It…honestly, it had already lit up this one, and despite that barrage Beau could feel herself chuckle.</p><p>She might have been grinning, too.</p><p>“You are…that is <em>so </em>strangely charming.” She shook her head slightly, but only in self-defense. “I mean…okay, yeah. You know what? Sure, alright, whenever you’ll have me, just send someone around to the Withered Bird. That’s where I’m staying.”</p><p>She noticed Fjord raise an eyebrow, but say nothing. She forged on ahead, giving Jester another nod.</p><p>“I look forward to getting to know you<em>,</em> Miss Lavore. The tea sounds great. Though the sparring sounds way better.”</p><p> “Then it’s a deal!” Jester gushed, and took Beau’s hands. “Oh, I can’t <em>wait</em>, it’ll be so <em>great</em>!”</p><p>She gave them a quick shake and a squeeze, then let go.</p><p>“Come on, Fjord! We should be heading back anyway. It’s a bit late for momma, now.”</p><p>He immediately stood up from his stool, nodded to Beau.</p><p>“Nice to meet you,” he said. “I guess, uh, I’ll see you around?”</p><p>“Definitely. And you know, maybe we could spar too. You didn’t get a fair shot at that guy, I’d like to see what you can do.”</p><p>Fjord made a strange sound in response, but then seemed to pause, look Beau over.</p><p>“Do you…actually mean that?”</p><p>She frowned. “I <em>said </em>it, didn’t I?”</p><p>He considered this. The corner of his lip twitched.</p><p>“Thanks, Miss Beau. And…sure. I’d, uh, love…to spar.”</p><p>And then, the two of them turned away, heading for the door leading out of the Cove. Just before they reached the door, however, Jester spun around one last time, and gave Beau a quick, energetic little wave.</p><p>She beamed, and Beau felt rather proud that she could keep getting this person to smile.</p><p>She waved back, swept up in the current of that cheer.</p><p>She felt…weird. <em>That </em>wasn’t something she usually cared abou—</p><p>The door shut with a faint, light jingle of the bell.</p><p>A shape next to her said, “Beauregard, what <em>happened</em>?”</p><p>She reached out blindly and Caleb put her mug of cider back into her hand.</p><p>She drank. It took a while, but eventually she reached the bottom.</p><p>“I think, uh…I think I’m taking tea with her.”</p><p>“With <em>her</em>? That…that person?”</p><p>“That’s…you know, that’s a pretty good description. Should…do you think we need to get her flowers? Shit, I’m <em>so </em>out of practice with, with <em>fancy </em>people.”</p><p>Caleb made a face that suggested he had never really been <em>in </em>practice with them.</p><p>“Flowers sounds safe. Should we ask Nott to steal some?”</p><p>Beau glanced at her pouch.</p><p>“No, I…I think I’ll buy these.”</p><p>“<em>Was</em>?”</p><p>She thought about that smile, and that laugh. Her hand was still warm from where Miss Lavorre squeezed it.</p><p>“I’m <em>buying </em>these flowers, Caleb. It’s, you know, it’s the <em>least </em>I can do.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you so much for reading!! I really hope you guys enjoyed this story, and if you did, consider leaving kudos and a comment! I'm thinking about continuing this tale if inspiration hits, and I'd love to know what you think</p><p>&lt;333333</p></blockquote></div></div>
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